


Requiem

by StringOfLetters



Series: Requiem [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Character Death, Child Death, Drinking, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-23 00:00:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20000629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StringOfLetters/pseuds/StringOfLetters
Summary: She could only hope he would find them and read them.





	Requiem

She sat up on the bed, reaching over with shaking hands to the side table to retrieve the shoebox. One of the nurses had suggested moving the box to make room for flowers, but she’d refused several times. There wasn’t anyone to bring her any, anyways.

She opened the box carefully, trying not to damage any of the envelopes inside it. Every one except for the most recent one had turned a light yellow, no longer the crisp white they had been when the letters were written. They were fragile, too, and sometimes she didn’t trust her constantly shaking hands to be gentle with them.

She’d put the dates that each one was composed on the flap of the envelope, because the amount of times she’d sift through the box and pick one up was now in the thousands, and she’d have no idea if they were in the right order without them.

Just by the dates, she could remember what each one said. Or, mostly perfectly. One’s memory would naturally be a little rusty at a couple years more than ninety years old.

 _Dearest Bucky_ , she’d written for the very first letter.

_It’s been three days since I received the telegram and this is the first time I’ve been able to get up from my bed. I’ve cried so much I’ve used all my handkerchiefs, and I’ve used about half of yours, waiting for mine to dry. I look like a mess. You’d probably think I had the flu or something. I’m afraid to even walk past the mirror. But I miss you. I keep glancing at the clock and thinking you’re going to come home from work at any second, and then I break down when I remember that you’re not._

_I wish you were here right now. You’d probably put on a cocky smile and tell me to cheer up, and then you’d crack a joke. I guess there’s none of that anymore. No more staying up until three in the morning on Friday nights and talking about what we’re going to do once you get back from the war…_

She remembered this one. She was no more than twenty years old, had barely been married for a year, when she’d received the news of his death. She’d often wondered what her life would be like if he hadn’t gone to war.

_Dearest Bucky,_

_It hit me again yesterday. After the last letter, I thought I was managing. But there were a few groups of soldiers in the streets yesterday that were home on leave, coming home and kissing their wives and girlfriends, and I kept hoping maybe you’d come back and I’d be one of those lucky girls._

_I’m probably being selfish. There’s thousands of other women who’s husbands and sons aren’t coming back yet, or at all, and they’re probably dealing with it better than I’ve been. My eyes are so red I can barely see out of them. Your pillow no longer smells like you…_

She remembered the night she settled down for bed and realized his pillow didn’t smell like him anymore. She’d dabbed a bit of his cologne onto the pillowcase with shaking hands, knowing very well that she wouldn’t be able to sleep without finding a solution. It worked, a little bit. But it was missing something purely him.

He smelled like his cologne, but also faintly of cigarettes, whiskey, and something she couldn’t describe, but if someone had put it in front of her, she’d be able to say, “That’s Bucky.“

_Dearest Bucky,_

_I’m sorry I haven’t written anything for quite a while. I’ve been so busy lately. Remember what I told you the night before you left for the war? Well, the baby’s finally here. I have a picture of her I’m putting in the envelope. She’s so beautiful. She has my nose, but everything else is yours. Your eyes are identical, and it’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen._

_You always said you thought if we had a girl you’d like to name her after your sister, so that’s what I named her. Rebecca Janine Barnes. She’s the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen, I just can’t get over it. I don’t think I ever will. She’s so peaceful, too, and likes to grab my fingers and laugh. The old lady who lives next door says it’s probably just gas, that she’s too young to laugh, but I don’t think so._

_I wish you could be here to hold her. You would be so proud…_

That had been one of the happiest days of her life, when their daughter was born. There was a little baby that was half of each of them, and she felt like she was reunited with a part of Bucky.

_Dearest Bucky,_

_I love you._

Sometimes those three words were all she’d write, when she didn’t know what else to put down on paper. They were all she needed to say.

_Dearest Bucky,_

_I haven’t written in a while. Forgive me._

_Little Rebecca passed away last month. The doctor said it was a cold at first, and then it turned into pneumonia._

_I can only hope that wherever she is, she’s with you now. You’ll be able to get to know her, and you’ll be able to love her as much as I do._

_I’ve lost the two most important things in my life and I don’t know what to do anymore. It’s too hard to keep regaining my footing when I have nothing left…_

She could barely remember the next few years after that terrible event. She’d lost the last thing connecting her to Bucky, and she was all alone in the world. There was no longer the sound of tiny feet making their way into the room, or little hands clinging onto her skirt and following her around. So she started drinking. She quickly turned into a machine, going to work in the morning and then coming home and downing a half a bottle.

_Dearest Bucky,_

_I don’t know if it was you last night, or my drunken mess who moved your slippers from under the dresser to under your side of the bed. I hope it was you. But maybe it was a sign that I have to get my life back together. It had to have been a sign, and on what would have been Rebecca’s sixth birthday, too._

_I’m trying. I haven’t had a drink tonight. I know it’s not as easy as that, and it won’t be, but I can only imagine what your reaction would be if you saw me these last few years. I’m going to try to find a smaller apartment, with less sad memories, and maybe a new job. There’s too many ghosts here…_

_Dearest Bucky,_

_It’s been decades since I wrote to you last. I moved and got a job at a diner in Queens after the last letter. It took a while to fix myself. I’m okay now._

_I’ve heard plenty about you on the news lately. You never died, after all. I found Steve, and talked to him on the phone the other day, too. He’s coming here to visit me tomorrow. I’ve decided I’m going to give him the letters to give to you. Maybe you’ll read them when you’re doing better._

_I want you to know that I don’t hate you for what you were turned into. Yes, Steve told me all about that. But I don’t hate you. Anyone else in the same position would be doing the same things you were._

_I don’t think I’ll be able to see you again, truth be told. Bucky, I’m dying. The doctors say I have a few weeks left at most._

_I’m sorry we never got to grow old together like we wanted to. I’m just glad that you’ve gotten a second chance at life, and that you have Steve to help you through it. I want you to be happy, and I want you to experience the things we always said we were going to do together._

_I’ll give Steve the address of the cemetery Rebecca is buried in, if you’d like to see her. That’s where I’ll be, too._

_I love you, Bucky. I always have and I always will._

With tears in her eyes she put the letters back in the box, closing it again. She hoped he’d read them.


End file.
